Dethklok Growing Dethpains
by Zandoz
Summary: Metalocalypse fan fiction, based on the adult swim cartoon. Nathan Explosion goes through a mid-life crisis and discovers he has a bastard child. Ooops! Watch what happens when they all interact in typical brutal fashion. Please read and respond!
1. 1: Revelation

Nathan Explosion, lead singer and lyricist for mega-band Dethklok, came out of a deep slumber with a drawn-out "Nooooo!" Sweat beaded his forehead as awareness slowly dawned on him. Just a bad dream, he told himself, another bad dream. In his underwer he padded to the sink in his uber-metal bedroom at Mordhaus and splashed water on his weary, craggy face. Man, he was still tired. Maybe all the partying was getting to him.

"Bleah," he said to the image staring at him from the barbed-wire framed mirror.

Then he noticed something about his appearance, and bent for a closer look...

And screamed bloody murder.

The other members of Dethklok were going through their morning routine: Murderface was slurpily eating cereal, Pickles was helping himself to some hair of the dog whilst sprawled on the couch, Toki playing happily with one of his model airplanes and Skwisgaar was idly noodling new riffs on his guitar. The were slowly getting revved up for a new day of brutality when Nathan literally exploded into the room.

"Aaghhh! Guys! I found a grey hair. I'm going grey!," he panted, oblivious to the fact he was still in his tightie whities.

"There's always hair color, my friend," Pickles reassures in his Midwestern twang, then burps.

"Yeah, you can cover up grey hair, but ya can't cover up fat and ugly. I'm the fat one!," Murderface points out, with milk on his mustache.

"But you know what this means?," Nathan demands in his trademark growly voice. All the others' faces were blank. "This means I'm gettin' old! That's not metal!"

"Wowee, that's brutal," concedes Toki as he twirls a propeller on his airplane. "How does it feel being elder?"

"Tired and shitty!," rumbles Nathan, plopping into an empty chair. "Aw, God, where did my youth go?"

At that moment their manager/financial representative walked into the room, immaculate as always, suave and bespectacled. "There you are," Ofdensen speaks, adjusting his tie. "I've been looking for you. I need to have a word with you. In private."

"Leave it to Mr. Moneybags to rains on your black parades," interjects Skwisgaar, wailing away on a solo.

"Jesus can't you see I'm having a mid-life crisis?," Nathan complains.

"This is important, I need you to come with me so I can--"

"Why can't you just tell me here?"

"Well, it's a delicate situation. There's someone here you have to talk to, and--"

"Another lamp meeting?," interrupts the blond guitarist.

Ofdensen sighs. "No, now please Nathan get dressed, and..."

"Just kill whoever it is," Murderface, ever the sadistic bassplayer, offers.

"Jah, feed them to the yard wolves," Skwisgaar suggests.

"It's not that simple. Nathan, something and someone important has been brought to my attention, and it concerns you." The businessman let that sink in a moment.

Raising his raven head (with its one grey hair) Nathan demands, "Who the hell is it? Just say it!"

"Your daughter is here to see you," the slim, clean-shaven man says flatly.

"My WHAT?!"

"This young woman claims she's your daughter and she's here to see you."

"FK!!," he roars.

Making their way to the conference chamber Ofdensen remarks, "Uh, don't you think you should get dressed?"

Nathan looks down at his large barrel-chested, powerful body essentially bare, with its somewhat flabby belly, and shrugs. Who cares at this point? His life was over. "At least some pants?," the CFO goes on.

"Off," Nathan says.

"Yes?"

"Eat my fk."

"Fine."

A Klokateer opens the double doors for them, and between the Klokateer guards and servants, the girl's lawyers, and the huge high-backed chairs sits a 15-year-old girl in plaid skirt and sweater. She glances up at him with green eyes and he sees his own strong jaw and piercing eyes, but she had full, pretty lips and a cutesy feminine nose. And a familiar full head of long, thick black hair.

"Hi, she speaks shyly, standing to an impressive height for someone of her tender years.

"Hi," Nathan stammers.

"Did you forget your pants?," she giggles.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"So you're my Dad," she muses, looking him over.

"I don't know. Am I?"

"We'll have the DNA tests run to check the girl's claim," Ofdensen puts in.

Footsteps announced the arrival of the rest of Dethklok, their curiosity having got the best of them. "I wanna see!," came Toki's plaintive voice.

"Is she cute?," went Murderface.

All the members fell over each other in the doorway in their haste to get through. "Pfah, it's a little yuppie girl!," scoffs Skwisgaar.

"That ain't metal," sniffs Pickles with a toss of his red dreadlocks.

"She dressed up for a Britney Spears video?," quipped Murderface.

"Metal this," she exclaims, lobbing a stapler at the bassist and bouncing it square off his head with a thok. The next sound was the thud of Murderface's chunky frame hitting the floor.

"My God," breathed Nathan, gazing at the girl with awe. "She IS my daughter."

The Tribunal sat in their accustomed places in the darkened room, awaiting Senator Stampingston's information. "It seems that a new development occured over the weekend--Nathan Explosion has met his illegitimate daughter Judy Evans." The grey-haired politician stood before a huge television screen which flashed appropriate information on the screen.

"That's interesting news indeed," says General Crozier in his surly manner. "It could be used to implode the band from the inside out."

"Here is Dr. Albrecht Schwingenhardbordson, a family dynamics specialist, to explain the situation," the Senator says, stepping aside.

"Gentlemen," the middle-aged, professional-looking man begins, clearing his throat. "The girl in question is daughter of one Betty Evans, a high school cheerleader and onetime sweetheart of Nathan Explosion when he played football. They broke up when he dropped out of high school and began playing in a band. Judy was born seven months later. Betty has since then went on to be a successful nurse at a hospital in Georgia, raising the child on her own. This revelation can do one of two things: having a child may strengthen Nathan, making him feel more whole and complete; or it could possibly tear Dethklok apart."

The white-haired elder sitting on the throne in the middle of the table speaks at last. "Yes...we will observe what happens. Let him get to know his progeny.."

"We have the results from the DNA paternity test," announces Ofdensen.

"Did I fail?," Nathan asks worriedly.

"It's not that kind of test, Nathan," the man replies, mustering his patience. "This will tell us whether or not you are truly this young lady's father." He opens the envelope and his shrewd eyes scan the papers. "Well, it says that you ARE the father with 99.99 certainty."

"Hoo boy," the singer mumbles.

"Dad!," exclaims the girl cheerily, hugging his muscular arm.

"So what am I supposed to do now?"

"I guess you uh...go do father stuff," answers Ofdensen. "Learn about your daughter, take her with you to concerts, help her do homework. You know, parent type things."

"Shit," he hisses.

"I'm glad you fin'ly decided to put some clothes on," Judy burbles.


	2. Meeting the Guys

"I'll show you to your room," said Ofdensen with little enthusiasm.

"Awesome!," the teen says, throwing her arms around the businessman's neck. For the first time it melts Ofdensen's icy demeanor, leaving him mumbling and blushing.

Judy clapped her hands and giggled in excitement when she was let inside her vast bedroom at Mordhaus. A 50 foot entertainment center sat against one wall, a closet an office could comfortably fit inside filled with clothes occupied one end and a computer desk the other. "Woo hoo!," she went, hugging bother her father and the manager again. She immediately began jumping on the enormous bed.

"Well, I suppose we won't have to worry about all that charity tax-evasion work at the end of the year," Ofdensen remarked.

Toki heard the girl's squeals of merriment and rushed in to see what was going on. In exactly 2.5 seconds he joined her in jumping on the bed, which creaked under the abuse. Soon both were squealing in childlike delight.

"Um, Judy? I was gonna give you a, like, tour of the place or something," Nathan calls to her.

"Ok!," she responds, bounching off the bed and landing nimbly on her feet. Toki followed suit and took a step backwards after Nathan growled at him when he tried following them.

After a winding corridor they came to a room with a big sign which read "Keep Out"; Nathan informed the adolescent that this was William Murderface's room. Judy gasped when the door was opened--it looked as if a hurricane and a tornado had had some drunken sex and given birth to a volcano inside. The occupant was sprawled on his bed, stabbing idly at the heavily scarred and pitted bedposts and scratching his crotch. "Ewww," the girl groaned in disgust.

"What the hell d'you want, Miss Fancypants?," slurred Murderface in his pronounced lisp.

"I'm showing her around," intoned Nathan, raising a heavy black eyebrow.

"Nothin' from you!," the girl declared n her Southern accent.

"Time to move along," suggested the CFO, herding them away.

"Want me to turn her over my knee, Nathan? I'll do it!," the bassist hollered after them.

"That's my room," Nathan pointed out. "That's Toki's room." She peered into an unkempt room (though noth nearly as bad as Murderface's) with posters and toys and airplane models on every availabe shelf space His Deth-bear was slumped on his bed, waiting for his owner's hugs. Guitar and amp sat in the corner, worn with practice. This was someone she could like, Judy smiled.

Then they reached a room with an imposing oak door outlined with etched Norse runes. Once inside they found Skwisgaar laying sideways across his bed, thankfully dressed for once. "This is Skwisgaar's lair," Nathan tells her.

"This is where the magics happens," the tall, lanky guitarist chuckles.

"Your room is neater than the others," Judy observes.

"You has a funny accents," opined Skwisgaar.

"So do you," she replies back.

"Soh do yewww," Skwisgaar singsongs, mocking her.

"Well at least I ain't some...Swedish meatball who can't talk right!," the teen shoots back.

"Did you just calls me a foods?," demands the blond man. "Anyways, calls me when your 18, babes."

"In your dreams, Slim Jim," she huffs.

"Oho! Yous has the spunks. I likes that."

"I'd like to put my foot up your narrow ass."

"Nathans, she doesn't seems to like me. All womens everwhere dying to sleep with me, all over the worlds. What up with thats?"

Nathan crosses his arms and rumbles, "My daughter has taste."

"Bah, fucks you."

Judy was aghast at his use of language. "Skwisgaar I swear to Satan you touch her I'll rip your balls off and make you eat 'em."

"Hah, now you is doting fathers. How sweet! Fuck yourself and your pretty young thing." With that he grabs a guitar laying at hand and begins playing it.

"Do you always talk to each other that way?," Judy asks as they continue through the building.

Nathan shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And that's brutal?"

"Mmmm, yep."

"So teach me to be brutal, My Mom said I was a lot like you and none of the cheerleaders liked me. So I wanna be brutal like you!"

"It sounds to me like you're already on your way," says Ofdensen, rather impressed with the way the young woman had handled Skwisgaar.

"This is Pickles' room," announces Nathan, looking at the seed of his loins with a new appreciation. The drummer's room was full of mostly empty liquor bottles, wadded-up kleenex, and sneakers. He apparently had dozens of them, scattered all over the floor. He was watching tv. And drinking, surprise surprise. "Hi there," he hiccupped. "C'mere and I'll have you drinkin' like a pro."

"You will not!," barks the frontman.

"Shit we all started drinkin' at her age," poohs Pickles. "It's good for ya."

"I don't want her gettin' smashed so young. I want better for my children."

"We been drinkin' all these years and look at us! We're freakin' billionaires!"

"Oh, yeah. Well, you gotta point..."

"Ok let's show her the recreation area," Ofdensen declaires, moving them out of the room.


	3. Strange Developments

Later...

"C'mon, Dad, go long!," shouted the girl, clutching the football. Puffing, Nathan complies, narrowly missing a dive by Toki. As soon as she threw the pigskin at Nathan something like a brick wall tumbled into her, sending the teen head over heels. "Ooof!," came out of her. "Hey," she protested. "Get off me."

"I was just tackling you," argued Murderface, still sprawled over her. "It's a fair move."

"Stop spitting when you talk!," Judy complained. The she kneed him in the gut.

"Oww! you little bitch, why I oughta--," and a serious brawl developed between them.

"Hey! Hey, stop that!," ordered Nathan.

"Hoo-weee, a good ol' fight!," chortled Pickles.

"Hah, watch Murderface getting beatens by thats little girl," Skwisgaar chuckled.

"I said, stop it!," barked Nathan, marching to the struggling pair and scooping one up in each arm, shaking them like rats.

"I'm never havin' kids," whined Murderface. "How d'you keep it from happening?"

"Bwell, that wouldn't be hards for you Murderface--you never has any laydeez," taunted Skwisgaar, dusting dirt off himself.

"Shut up, dildo!," the bassist cried.

Nathan finally releases them. "Sorry, Dad," Judy says. "But he's just so mean."

"I, uh, feel weird with you calling me that."

"What? Dad? You...don't want me to call you that?," and the look she gave him was his own green eyes welling up with tears, her full bottom lip quivering.

"Well, uh, I guess you can call me that. Since I am, yanno, uh, your father."

"What, she gonna cry now?," pouts Murderface.

"I am not!," Judy declares hotly, socking him in the shoulder.

"Ouch! Nathan, she's got your arm," Murderface rubs his shoulder ruefully.

Judy grinned smugly while she wiped grass stains off her jogging pants--aw, she had holes in the knees and a tear in her t-shirt now. Grumbling, she went to the water cooler for a drink and spewed out a mouthful of something than burned her throat. The guys laughed. "What is that stuff?," she sputtered after her coughing fit subsided.

"Vodka," answers the skinny drummer, holding his sides with laughter.

"Bleccch," she went, stumbling against the picnic table, upsetting the cooler of vodka which sloshed onto some cords leading to an outdoor stage setup. The band had planned on practicing outside in the nice weather. Three hooded roadies who'd been working on the soundboard and amps were promptly electrocuted, bodies thrashing about violently. Spars flew, of all different colors, and sizzling sounds came from the unfortunates.

"Brutal," Nathan breathed. He whipped out his personal voice recorder and spoke into it, "New idea for song title--vodka-cuted."

Finally the current subsided, the Klokateers lifeless, cooked forms dropping like sacks of flour. "Wowee," affirmed Toki. "That's metal."

"Oh!," gasped Judy, horrified. ""Oh! I'm sorry--oh man, I didn't mean it omigod omigod," she ran to Nathan, burying her face in his massive chest.

"Uh...it's ok, Judy. Really."

"Jah, ackskidents happens," assured Toki.

"Smells like cookout," sniffs Skwisgaar. "I's hungries."

"Yeah, let's go get summin ta eat," agrees Pickles, heading for the entrance to the living quarters.

"What about them?," asked the teen, meaning the now-deceased employees.

"The other hoodies will clean them up," Nathan says, patting the girl on the back.

Charles Foster Ofdensen watched them walking form his high office window, the girl between her father and Toki, smiling again after her trauma. She certainly was a lot like Nathan, but wrapped up in a tasty feminine package. Damn, nice ass on her, he mused. She'll definately be something else when she's full-grown, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. The downside of all this would be Nathan's protectiveness towards her. He could see allowances, college funds, trust funds and the like eating at Dethklok's profits. Ah well, she seems pretty self-sufficient, like her mother, perhaps she wasn't just after money.

He was, however.

And yet...he wanted her. Badly. What the hell, he went on--he was not pedophile. She was only 15, for God's sake! He'd entertained himself with dalliances with groupies, interns, female roadies. He bored easily, however--and of late he'd been celibate. He was a busy man, after all.

All of a sudden he was horny.

Not long after that...

Skwisgaar threw open the door to the CFO's office, saying "Ofdensen, I needs talks to yous. How long is this girl staying here?," then he stopped short.

The manager was masturbating to a picture of Judy and was just as surprised as the guitarist.

"Ahh...you is one sick puppys," Skwisgaar wags his finger at him. "You likes her too, eh?"

"Umm...Skwisgaar this isn't exactly a good time--"

"When is good times? When yous not shining your pickle? I wants to knows when annoying schoolgirl is leavings, but I guess she stayings. She no likes me, what makes you think she'll likes _you_, you stupid butler?

eh?"

"Look, Skwisgaar, how long she stays is up to her and her father," Ofdensen tried to take control of the conversation, his dick still in his hand.

"Bwell," huffs the tall man. "Don't let me interrupts your playtimes."

"Good. I'll guess I'll finish, then," the manager states.

Skwisgaar was intensely sorry after that he tried scowling at the other to intimidate him; it didn't work. He had to give the man credit--he himself wouldn't have been able to get off with another dude standing there looking at him. "I's goings to be sick," he moaned, leaving the office.

Ofdensen merely grinned and reached for some more tissue.

"Let me sees your cd's," Toki says, poking through the lass's belongings in her room.

"Ok," she responds, showing him her collection.

"What the hells? My Chemicals Romance? Aww," he snorts, thumbing through them. "Bunch more emos craps...Led Zeppelins, ok...craps bands...Staind? Ughhh."

"Don't make fun," Judy whined.

"You needs to get some good brutal stuffs, start out with old school like Diamond Head, get some Finanacially Raped, hey you know that one of Skwigaar's old bands."

The teen was listening to him in earnest. She would learn to be cool...or brutal.

"Oh! You has Snakes and Barrels! That Pickle's old band!"

"He was in Snakes n' Barrels? No way!"

"Jah. There might be some helps for yous after all," Toki smiled at her, and she couldn't help staring at his bright blue eyes. He was so exuberant and naive, like a child; but he wasn't a child, she could see. He had defined arms and she felt his hard abdomen when he brushed past her to look at more cds. He wasn't much taller than her and not bulky like her father was, but he was strong. He pulled the whole shelf the ginormous entertainment center rested on to retrieve a cd that fell behind it like it was nothing.

"Yous wears brassieres like this? Likes pole dancers?," Toki held up a lacy black-and-pink bra she'd bought at the mall near her mother's home.

"Gimme that," she snaps, grabbing for it.

'You just a kid," he goes on with a scandalized expression. "You shouldn'ts bes wearings things like dat."

"Don't lecture me, all right?"

Realizing she was becoming upset he stopped, then put the bra on his head, exclaiming "Helps me Obi Wans Kenholbes, yous my only hopes!"

She couldn't help but laugh at his antics.


	4. Woo Hoo!

Days pass...

"Tokis," says Skwisgaar slowly while strumming his guitar. The Scandinavians were both in the communal band hot tub, Toki on his laptop.

"Yeah, whats?"

"Has you been playings my guitar?"

"No," Toki answers, pecking away at the keyboard.

"Dis guitar is out of tune. It's tuned all dildoes like hows you tunes yours."

"I don't tune like dildoes, my guitar is rockin!," Toki protests.

"Hah! You been tryings to play my guitar. Thinks you can bes as good as me? Pffft, what a laugh!"

"That's not...oooh, you being an assholes, Skwisgaar!. Seriously."

"I may bes assholes, but I's still faster and better than you."

"Shut ups!" Both guitarist glared at one another as the bubbles floated around in the heated water.

Suddenly the slap of narrow bare feet sounded along with a loug "Yeeeee haaaaa!," then a raven-haired streak cannonballed into the hot tub.

"Shit!," both guitarists shout. It was a bathing-suit clad Judy flopping noisily about in the water, soaking Toki and Skwisgaar and their toys. "Yeah baby, yeahhhhh baybay!," she was yelping in her Georgia accent, clearly enjoying the hell of out herself.

"Are you demon posessed, Judys Hotpants?," inquires Skwisgaar, shaking water out of his ear.

"She's very...energetics alot, isn't she Nathans?," Toki asks the frontman.

"She's a teenager," offers Nathan, beer in hand. "Plus I think Skwisgaar might be right. I believe I have another grey hair."

The lass continued splashing and carrying on, and Skwisgaar chuckled. "She is kinda funnys...Hey, don't splashes me with my guitar...hey now..." Judy slipped his practice guitar over his head and made off with it, sitting it on the floor, then heaved more water at him.

Soon there was more water on the floor than in the hot tub.

"Somebody give her some horse tranquilizers," Pickles suggests, taking a swig of his bottle of whiskey. "What the hell, man?"

"Jean-Pierre let me have some cake...and some mocha cappuccino, and a cupcake, and some truffles," says Judy.

"Holy crap," breathes Pickles. "Where does she put it all?"

"I think I'm finding it," complained Nathan, poking his soft middle. "Fatherhood is fuckin hard."

Skwisgaar finally had enough of the girl's shenanigans and dunked her under the water, her strong limbs splashing even more. She came up spluttering and indignant, "Shit fuck shit fuck piss on you Skwisgaar you cockgobbler!"

"Damn that's harsh," said Murderface. One hazel eye sported a beautiful shiner from the tussle he had the other day with her. "Who taught her that?"

"You did, dumbass," Nathan spoke.

"Oh yeah."

Ofdensen entered the soaked room, cocked an eyebrow, and looked round at each of them. "Just figured I'd inform you of the short US tour you'll be going on two days from now. Might wanna rehearse and get your setlist made up."

"Come gets in the hot tubs," invites an unusually jovial Skwisgaar. "Schoolgirl is hopped up on sugars and caffieens. She's housebrokens though. Hopefullys."

"She better not pees in here, I's right beside her!," declared Toki.

"Ah, no thank you. Guess I better get some staff with mops up here..."

splash

"Hmm. Maybe later," and the manager turned on his heel and exited.

Deep in the Revengencers secret lair, a televison was on. A commercial played, with Murderface standing with his arms crossed. "Want all the pleasure and none of the risk?," he was saying in his lisp. "Try the new Dethklok Dethkondoms, the strongest condoms on the market today! You can buy regular, or spike studded...for your pleasure." The three figures watching said nothing, but their eyes danced in slient anger. One was in a wheelchair, one was a tall kid with a skin mask, and the other was an assassin with a metal mask. They were united in one purpose: to exact vengeance upon Dethklok.

Peppy news music sounded after the commercial with a female reporter announcing the Dethklok News Minute. "Who is this mystery girl?," the reporter was saying, after a blurry still photo of a young woman spotted on the grounds of Mordhaus. "Some are saying she's a very young girlfriend of one of the members, others are saying she could possibly be a child of one of them due to her youth, and yet other sources deny there's a young lady there at all."

"Interesting," mused the bespectacled man in the wheelchair.

Nathan decided to check up on his daughter, and peeked his head in the doorway to see what she might be doing. She was prancing and posing in front of the full-length mirror in her room, making faces and singing to herself. "Judy. Judy Explosion," she said, pretending to announce her name. "It's Judy Explosion! Yeahh!," she jumped up and down started banging her head like mad. A twinkle came to Nathan's piercing eyes, softening his sharp-angled face. She wasn't so bad, once you got to know her. Her energy and charm were infectious, that's for sure.


	5. Uh Oh

"Guys?," Ofdensen remarked hopefully. "Are we packed and ready to depart?"

"Yeah...well, uh, no," Nathan speaks for himself and the rest of the band.

Shaking his head, the businessman goes on, "I thought so. I took the liberty of having your roadies pack for this short tour. So if you guys are ready, we'll board the Dethcopter--"

"Ah, no," Pickles piped up. "I'm still drinkin.'"

"Me too," volunteered Murderface.

"I'm brushings my hair," spoke Skwisgaar, preening like a diva.

"I haven't hads my happy pills," went Toki.

"Does this shirt make me look fat?," Judy asked, posing. She was sporting a spiderwebby-black-tank top thing.

Ofdensen had to bite back a highly sexually-charged remark, and simply said loudly, "We boarding the damn copter. NOW."

Taken aback, the group obeyed, with Murderface grumbling, "SheeshSomebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

"You have no idea, William," snaps the manager drily. God help him hi loved the bunch of idiots.

"Wowee!," exclaimed Judy when she saw the vast expanse of the Dethcopter's interior, mimicking Toki without thinking. As they lifted off she was pitched forward into the arms of a burly Klokateer. "Just air turbulence, young mistress," he said, setting her back on her feet.

"Th-thanks," she said, reeling from the lurching of the now-airborne vehicle.

"'Tis nothing, my lady," the hoodie responded, continuing aabout his business. Being called 'my lady' made one feel rather good, conservative Southern upbringing or no.

She was looking pretty metal by now. Her eyebrows were pierced in imitation of pickles and she wore tight black pants with huge leather boots. And black nailpolish raided from her dad's room. She wandered around, trying to get a feel of the place, and rounded a corner that led to one of the recreational areas. She heard the voices of Dethklok in earnest and halted to listen. She was an adolescent, after all.

"She's a woman, which means she's a dirty soul-murderer," Murderface was saying.

"Ain't you bein' a bit rough on her?," asked Pickles. "I mean, she's just a kid and all."

"She is okays in small doseses," Skwisgaar intoned. "But we needs to gets down to beesness. She's distractinating you, Nathans."

"Aw, screws you all off, I likes her," argued Toki, eating some hard candy. Nathan was silent.

"You know she just hopes to get some of your hard-earned money," the bassist went on, pressing his point. "That's a woman for ya."

Judy took the last few steps into the room, eyes brimming with wetness. "So that's what y'all think of me?," she demanded, surprised her voice was holding so steady. "Is that what YOU think?," she questioned Nathan, who was sitting on the couch with an utterly shocked expression.

"No! Judy, listen--"

"I don't want your filthy money!," she screamed, teenage tantrum in full swing. "I never wanted it! My Mom has plenty enough money. I wanted to know who my father was! I wanted to find out who I am! I wanted--" sob "--to be like everybody else!," she ran weeping from the room.

"Judy, wait!," called Nathan in distress, getting up to follow her.

"Better let her cry it out," advised Pickles, his hand on the singer's massive forearm. "She's hysterical right now."

"Goods goings, you guys," chastised Toki indignantly.

"Too much drama for me," whined Murderface. "That's what happens with females around."

"Seems like she mostly okays until you fucks with her, Murderface," snorted the tall Swede, tossing his blond hair.

Judy fled blindly away from the band, crying, her tears streaming down her face. How could they do that to her? Well, Toki took up for her, but he was just one against many. She didn't fit in anywhere. She was doomed it seems to always be alone, she thought--

"Ooof!," she yelped as she ran right into someone. It was Ofdensen.

"Are you lost?," he asked after steadying her.

"No," she sniffed, looking away.

"Is something wrong?," he could tell she'd be crying.

"Just go away," she mumbled.

"Well, you're Nathan's daughter and under my care, so it's kind of my business to know if something's amiss."

"They said I should go away!," she blurted out, burying her face in his suit jacket. "All of them except Toki think I'm lame and unmetal!," she wailed. "Even my Dad!," she snorted, decorating the tailored jacket with mucus. "I just wanna die!"

"There now," the man attempted to sound soothing and wasn't quite convincing. It was a sincere effort, though. Patting her back awkwardly he became aware of the thick ebony locks, so like Nathan's, close to his face. Her hair smelled great, he thought. How did he end up in these situations?

"I--," hic, "Just wanna--," sob "--go home," she wept, hiching and slobbering. She supremely hated sounding and acting like such a child; little did she know it saved her from possibly being molested by Ofdensen.

She's just a child, he was telling himself, and the wet, snotty hysterics convinced his rebellious body of the fact. "Hey, it's probably a misunderstanding," he assured her as the sobs slowed. "They aren't exactly sensitive types."

"I want to see my Mom," she sniffed quietly. "I don't belong here."

"Well, you see, we're in transit to the first show in this tour," the man explained. "When we land we can talk about sending you back to your mother. Please think about it though. Nathan loves you, he just has a hard time...expressing himself. We--ah, we all love you."

"Really?," she said, turning her angular face up to the man, big green eyes wide. Runny makeup, snot and tears didn't hide the fact she was absolutely adorable--and she looked like a young teen much to Ofdensen's relief. Cute he could deal with. Toki was cute, once you thought about it.

"Of course," he said, and was sincere this time. "Now go uh..fix yourself up or powder your nose or whatever you girls do, and please think about what we talked about."

It was the closest thing to a humorous statement she'd ever heard from the laconic manager, and she smiled a little.

Nathan found her in her chambers hugging her pillow forlornly, and bravely poked his thick skull inside the doorway. "Uh, Judy? You there?"

"Course I'm here. Where else?," she replied irritably.

"I just wanted to say...that I'm sorry for what you heard. Murderface can be dick sometimes, but that's just his way. I don't want you to go," Nathan said simply, unsure of how to articulate what he was feeling. "Ah, fuck it, I'm no good at this shit," and he turned to stalk off. "I'm too stupid."

"Dad, wait!," Judy said. "You're not stupid. Metal and brutal, maybe, but you're not stupid."

The frontman brightened. "Will you be at the show?"

"Uhh..I got some things to think about," she said evasively. "I don't wanna make things bad between you and your band."

"Fuck them dumbasses," snorted Nathan. "Fatherhood is the most brutal and metal thing I can think of. Not that I would give up meeting you, though. Daughters are pretty fuckin' metal too. Ugh, I feel weird saying that. I'll see you later, I gotta go break something." Judy giggled at that. She was glad to have met him, too.

Well, I don't need to be moping around in my room all day, she decided. I'll go watch some tv with Pickles or something. He seems to be able to tolerate me, at least. She started walking around in the mazelike innards of the Dethcopter, and when she entered the corridor leading to the television room two powerful hands grabbed her by the upper arms and yanked her back, one of them clapping across her mouth to prevent her screaming. She bucked and kicked, being no small specimen, but she was only a 15 year old pampered girl, after all. A hood or bag of some sort was plopped down over her head, then something went crack against her skull and she saw only blackness.


	6. Revengeance

"Damn, she looks a lot like the singer," came a gruff male voice.

"Yes, she may be a close relative, perhaps even his daughter," spoke a more distinguished voice.

"I say we kill her now," suggested a third, younger sounding, voice.

"Patience," the second speaker told him. "We want to savor the bittersweet moment."

The gruff one snickered, a dry, rattling, vile sound. Judy opened her eyes and almost freaked: she thought for a moment she was blind but discovered her head was enclosed in heavy cloth, her hands tied behind her back. She was lying on her stomach in an ungainly heap and her head throbbed. "Are you awake, my dear?," came the brutal voice. She was hauled roughly to her feet. The head-covering was removed, to reveal a man even larger than her father and twice as mean-looking. He was pants-shittingly scary, the kind of scary that made nightmares shrivel up and run home to their mamas, scarred face partially covered in a metallic mask. One powerful arm sported some sort of metal brace which squeaked when he moved. Her eyes strayed from this fellow to another in a wheelchair, a corpulent blob of a man in cracked glasses and goatee. She appeared to be in a storage room, deep in the bowels of the massive helicopter, dimly lit and musty.

"Hello, young lady," the crippled man spoke. "I'll be asking you a few questions, and my advice to you would be to answer as truthfully as you can."

"Who--who are you?," she whispered, terrified and bewildered.

"Shut up, bitch!," yelled the third man, and she twisted her head to spy two more people, one silently standing there in a mask made of someones _face_ and another young man dressed as a Dethklok employee sans black hood. It was he who wanted her dead. "We'll be asking the questions!"

The invalid began. "We'd like to know who YOU are, please."

"Eat shit," she answered.

Mr. Scary Metal Mask slapped her, gently for him, but it left her dazed and seeing dancing lights before her eyes. "Your name," he wheezed at her.

"Judy. Judy Explosion," she squawked, only catching her slipup after it popped out of her mouth.

"Ah. He's your father, right?," roly-poly continued.

She said nothing. Another slap. This time she was a bit more prepared, and spat blood defiantly. "Stubbon, I see. Get the cattle prod," he tells Metal Mask. "He'll kill you," she hisses at them. "He'll fucking kill you."

"He'll fuckin try," guffaws I-Just-Made-You-Shit-Your-Pants.

Backstage Area. Twenty minutes before showtime. Tons of fangirls and fanboys. Booze. Dethklok. Potato salad.

"Where's Judy?," demands Nathan of Ofdensen.

"I don't know, I thought she was with you," responds the CFO.

"No, she was in her room last I saw her," Nathan says, black heart sinking.

"She's not watching the show? Whatta brat," declared Pickles.

"She's probably puttings on makeups," put in Skwisgaar.

"Soul murderer," mutters Murderface.

"I'll have the roadies look for her," says Ofdensen, getting a bit worried, himself. "Don't worry, I'll handle it. You just concentrate on the concert, all right?"

"Mmmuuuhhh," growled the unhappy frontman. "Make sure she's all right, Off."

"I will. Promise."

"You--you promise?"

"Yes Nathan," he answers patiently. As soon as he was out of earshot he sent out hoodies to search for the girl, then having a moment of genius rushed to the Security Room aboard the Dethcopter and began running back the hidden camera footage. After a few uneventful minutes of that his dark blue eyes widened. "Fuck. Me. Sideways," he cursed. He rarely cursed.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he mantra'd under his breath in between issuing orders to various staff like a general. If Nathan found out before this show was over, he would erupt like ten volcanoes and cause a riot the likes of which the one in LA in the 90's would look like a Kindergarten playtime outing. And if the Revengencers had their way, they'd ruin any and all chances of him humping the dogshit out of Miss Explosion when she became legal. Not that he had that much of a chance to begin with, but he wasn't into necrophilia, for sure.

Not if he could help it, anyway.

"It'll be ok, Nat'an," assured Pickles. "She'll be here."

"I hopes so," Toki says worriedly. "I likes that goil."

"Hah. Wants to give her your sausage, do yous?," taunted Skwisgaar, strapping on his guitar in preparation.

"I'd buy her one if she wanted me to," Toki said.

"You is big retards," chortled the Swede viciously. "Yous would rather have playtime happy hourse than making the sex with hot girl."

"Skwisgaar, she is not for de fuckings! She is childrens, not hots babes." Toki was horrified.

"I'm right here, yanno," grated Nathan with gritted teeth. "Assholes. You dumb dicks just play and stop fantasizing about Judy, ya gross bastards."

"How bout I just kill myself for bein' sucha loser," wheezed Murderface. "Would that make you happy?"

"I should be so lucky," snarled Nathan in metal-induced sarcasm.


	7. Wowee, Violence!

Judy lost all idea of where she was or even who she was after the second jolt of electricity, enough to make a 2 ton bull sit up and take notice. She was flopping bonelessly on the floor, eyes rolled back in their sockets, foamy spit frothing at her lips. The young, skinny son of a bitch was guffawing in glee and was disappointed when the cattle prod was put away. After a few moments she began to feel like she was inhabiting her body, and it sucked balls because the body was still trying to figure out what had just happened to it. The electrical impulse which controlled nearly everything in one's body had been disrupted, causing muscles to spasm. Finally her muscles relaxed and the heart to pump correctly. "This is effective," marvelled the gruff man. "That was a good idea, Edgar."

"That should take some of the fight out of her," agreed the wheelchair-bound maniac, satisfied. "Now to make Dethklok come to us, so we can crush them one by one. D, calm yourself."

The Klokateer-garbed man composed himself. "They'll think twice before torturing a poor kid for downloading free Dethklok songs," he said.

"And both our brothers will at last rest in peace," vowed Edgar solemnly.

The Assassin, for that's what Judy had decided to call him (and she was right on the mark), stood over her, smirking. His silver-grey hair fell in ratty locks around his scarred face as he bent forward. "This is just the tip of the iceberg of what can and will be done to you," he remarked, pulling her to her feet again. Her legs wouldn't obey at first, and he snarled as he held her up with his good arm until her wobbly legs gained enough strength to keep her upright.

At that moment the doors to the storage room exploded inwards, rabidly loyal Dethklok employees running inside to surround the Revengencers. D and the silent one tripped a couple of them and used the cattle prod on a few more. The mute one wearing the hideous skin mask jumped on Edgar's motorized wheelchair and they buzzed away from the Klokateers. The Assassin tucked the feebly squirming teen under his arm and fell back, shooting incoming hoodies with a handgun.

"We have to get out of this copter," the Assassin told Edgar as they fled down passageways, the Klokateers on their tail.

"Our best bet would be the concert itself, cause an uproar and have Dethklok at our mercy," D suggested.

"Hmm, not a bad idea," mused Edgar.

"Where do you think you're going?," came a voice all-too-familiar to the Assassin as they neared the concert hall. It was fine, almost accentless, and underscored with loads of hidden menace.

"Well, it's you, the babysitter," the huge man countered, levelling his gun at the other's heart. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"I can't let you use that girl against Dethklok." Ofdensen removed his glasses.

"Come and get her, hotshot," and the masked man squeezed the trigger, but Ofdensen was unbelievably quick leaping to the side, the bullet grazing his upper arm. Gathering his feet under him he sprang on the bigger man, who had to decide whether to drop the firearm or the hostage, and chose to drop the gun. His bear-paw fist plowed into the financial officer's face, who didn't stop but slapped the heel of his palm under the Assassin's chin, snapping his head back. He staggered, still clutching the young lady, and took another swing at the manager who ducked. Ofdensen delivered a right, then a left to his opponent's face, then a shin kick to his ribcage. This elicited a grunt from the enormous man, who along with the rest of his group retreated into a deserted hallway.

"He broke my nose," Ofdensen told one of the Klokateers who'd come to aid him in surprise. "Go in after them!," he orders.

Meanwhile Dethklok was brutalizing the audience in typical Dethklok fashion, even though they were kinda down because of Judy being missing. They took out their frustration on their instruments and the crowd. The noise was nearing face-melting level, the kind of loud, deep music that makes your insides feel like they've been shook loose and are now falling into your legs, then you notice your pants legs vibrating from the aural assault and you wonder if you need to throw up or die. That's the kind of metal-ness we're talking about.

Nathan prowled the stage like a metal beast, his growling vocals giving audiatory ear orgasms to every man, woman and primate within range, causing paroxyisms of jumping, screaming, and pulling fistfuls of hair out of their own heads. He gripped the microphone the way ancient Germanic barbarians clutched their broadswords before sticking them into surprised Roman soldiers, and looked as if he would happily tear your pancreas out of your writhing body and eat it in front of you before kicking your balls in (or if you're a woman, kicking your tits off). He banged his head during the nonsinging parts, whipping his thick raven hair in circles and causing chicks in the front row to pass out all over each other, their ovaries having exploded from too much metal.

Pickles was drumming frenetically enough to make Animal from the Muppet Show approve, sweat beading out on his corpse-painted forehead. Red dreadlocks flew about as the slender man attacked his drumset with a vengeance, biting his lower lip in concentration. The Pickles Fan Club all swooned when he executed a tricky roll, some dropping their 'I love Pickles' signs. Eight deaths were caused when he threw a pair of broken drumsticks into the crowd as a souvinier. The winner of the sticks lost a couple of fingers and all feeling in the left side of his face.

Murderface was on the top of his game that night, his normally poofy, frizzy light brown hair plastered to his head from his exertion. He even got to do his bass solo, which the other guys felt was an excuse to drop his pants. His solo involved playing the bass with his dick--despite loathing his appearance the other members thought he was quite the exhibitionist. He behaved more than usual, having only kicked in one overzealous fan's face in this time instead of the usual five.

Toki got to solo a few times, despite Skwisgaar rolling his eyes at what the Swede refers to as Toki's "Slow dumb dildoes playings." He headbanged, sandy brown hair flipping hither and thither and yon. The black facepaint around his eyesockets brought out the color in his light blue eyes, but the Fu Manchu mustache he sported clashed in a comical way. He hoped little Judy was ok, he thought. The second-fastest guitarist in the world shredded his Flying-V all night. He wrenched noise and feedback straight from the depths of Hell, where the Norse Goddess Hela sat up during dinnertime and went "What the fuck was THAT? That was brutal!"

Skwisgaar, the tallest and fastest guitarist in the world, stood straight as a post and his fingers moved so fast that they were a blur on his guitar. His thick blond hair fell down his back and beyond as he arched his back during a solo. Tension increased, veins popped out on people's heads as he bent further backward, at last snapping forward, yellow locks pitching forward into his serene face. Ten fans lost their minds right there and had to be admitted to a mental hospital.

Judy had been thrown to the side like a ragdoll and lay panting where she flopped, unable to do more than twitch. The Assassin and Ofdensen were grappling with each other while the remaining Revengencers held off a horde of Klokateers. The band manager had discarded his ripped up jacket and the left arm of his shirt was covered in scarlet from his wound. Gotta do something, the girl thought groggily. _Must get out of here._ Slowly she levered herself up and looked around to get her bearings; there were signs pointing to the stage area. She staggered forward like a puppet with its strings cut, head swimming but determined. "No! Stop her!," cried Edgar, blocked by several Dethklok guards. She made her way to the stage area, initially stopped by the staff but they recognized her and tried to help her to somewhere she could sit down.

"No, let go of me. I have to get up there!," she pointed to where Dethklok was performing. Judy twisted out of their grip and pushed her way up the stairs leading to the stage. Nathan noticed his bedraggled, beaten looking offspring and ceased singing, surprised and concerned. D the faux-Klokateer came bounding from the opposite sidestage as the girl, hoping to intercept her. Nathan swung his huge arm out, executing a textbook clothesline wrestling move. The guy actually did a complete flip before he smacked the soundstage floor.

"You're gonna pay for your misdeeds, Dethklok!," screamed Edgar, aiming a harpoon at the teenager. Where he got one from is anyone's guess, but if he can slither his way out of the Mordhaus dungeon, he can probably do about anything. He pulled the trigger, the wicked-looking spear launching right for Judy. Murderface removed his bass and slung it with all his might toward the girl, and the wooden instrument caught the the harpoon, sharp tip burying itself in the bass. The momentum carried the guitar into the unsteady girl, knocking her back.

The strong arms of her father caught her, cradling her against his barrel chest. She gazed up at him gratefully. Time seemed to stop; the band standing there with their mouths open. "Dad, I need the microphone," she told him.

"You need the--what?," he wondered, completely lost. He felt like he was missing something a lot of the time.

"Help me stand up, and give me the mike."

Dumbly he complies, and she announces, "That man over there wants to kill me and Dethklok!"

The crowd gasps.

"That other man running toward the stage wants to kill them, too!," she roars. All eyes turn toward the Assassin, who had decided that running was his best option against Ofdensen. "What do you have to say about that?," she demands in a shockingly powerful voice.

"Kill them!," yells the audience. "Kill them!"

Edgar backed up in his wheelchair, but Nathan grabbed the bass with the harpoon imbedded in it and gave it a hearty yank and was rewarded: the line was hung up in the wheelchair and the man couldn't get away. He screamed as the crowd poured over him in a wave of hatred.

Ofdensen caught up to the Assassin and tore off a piece of his arm bracing, then stabbed him through the bend of his arm. "AAAAaghhh!," went the man in agony. He headbutted the manager and loped off, arm dangling limply at his side. He was so fast the hoodies didn't catch him. He was, however, the only one known to escape. The audience tore two to pieces, and D was consigned to the Mordhaus dungeon. Again.


	8. Bittersweet

"Gahd, Murderface. You must really like Judy!," grinned Pickles, all of them backstage during the aftermath. The bassist grumbled, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Thanks for saving her, Murderface," rumbled Nathan reluctantly. He hated thanking him for anything.

"Well, you know, she had the hell beat out of her and could still brutalize a microphone. So yeah, that's kinda metal," he admitted. "I don't have her or Nathan's arm, but I can still throw!"

"Thanks for savin' my life," Judy tells him, wrapping her arms around his thick middle. His hazel eyes widened in surprise, his face reddening in embarrassment. His arms settled around her in a quick squeeze. She turned to see a pair of glad blue eyes looking into hers.

"I'm glads you okays!," Toki says, hugging her happily. She started to pull back to tell him she was happy to see him, too, when the Norwegian's lips brushed her cheek accidentally. It sent an unexpected shudder through them both. He then tried to play it off by giving her a peck on the lips before releasing her, but they were both blushing now.

"It seems little schoolgirls is pretty metal now," Skwisgaar half-teases her. "When you grows up, if you needs a metal god betweens your thigh, you let me know."

"Shut up, Skwisgaar," hisses Nathan menacingly. "And you keep your lips off her," he jabs a finger at Toki, who took a step back.

"Well I'm huggin her anyways, Nat'an. Hell I'm older'n you so she'll be my daughter, too!," Pickles winks and hugs her in his Midwestern exuberance, leaving her smiling and breathless. She had never felt so loved and accepted in all her life. Or so sore or tired, she thought ruefully.

"Holy fuckballs, looks at Ofdensen," interjects Skwisgaar, and they all turned to the manager. His nose was crooked, blood streaming from it, his right arm was still bleeding from the bullet grazing him, and no amount of dry-cleaning was going to help his ruined outfit.

"He's a freakin' ninja or somethin," chuckles Pickles.

"Hey, Off," hails Nathan, approaching hm with his brow furrowed. "I've been thinking, not real hard, but yeah...I don't think my lifestyle is conducive to the proper upbringing and care of a child right now."

Ofdensen stares at the frontman in disbelief. "Why, Nathan--that's the most intelligent and unselfish thing I believe you've ever said."

"Yeah..huh?," Nathan grunted.

"What are you talking about?," asks Judy in alarm.

"Judy, ah, it looks like staying with your father is too dangerous for you right now," the manager tries to explain. "Extended stays are too risky, it seems. You'd be safer with your mother."

"But I don't wanna go!," she wails. The other guys echoed the sentiment.

"You can come visit," Nathan tells her.

"In secret, of course," puts in Ofdensen.

"Well...there's my 16th birthday in a couple months," she states hopefully. "I'll be Sweet 16!"

"Oh God...," groans Nathan.


End file.
